Brian Anderson - The Sword of Truth

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Strange,” she replied. “But good. I hate hiding.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” Dina said. “None of us should.”

Kaylia nodded in agreement. “Maybe one day we won’t have to.”

Lee led them through the crowded streets to the southern garden district. Just as Lee had said, the houses in the area were single- and two-story dwellings, their brick walls covered in ivy and protected by wrought iron gates. The streets were clean and far less crowded than the rest of the city. Fine coaches navigated the wide avenues, driven by haughty men in red and gold jackets, and pulled by horses nearly as well adorned as the drivers. Lords and ladies in elegant attire strolled down the broad sidewalks.

Lee stopped in front of an immense manor and dismounted. The double-gated wall was at least ten feet high. A man in a gold silk suit and waistcoat stood at the gateway.

“Is Harlondo in?” Lee asked politely.

“He is,” the gate keeper responded. “Might I tell him who calls?”

Lee pulled the letter Lord Ganflin had given him from his pocket. “I have a message from Lord Ganflin.”

“I see. Please wait here.” The man passed through the gate and disappeared inside the manor.

Gewey was amazed by the size of the estate; it was bigger than most temples. The entire structure was made from polished white granite, and sat upon at least three acres of land. The vestibule was lined with stone columns supporting a veranda that spanned the length of the front of the house. The driveway was almost as wide as the avenue, and the well-manicured lawn and gardens held plants and flowers of so many different kinds, it would take someone an entire spring just to name them all. He recognized flowers such as roses and tulips from back home, but others looked as though they belonged in a fairytale. Low lying lavender blooms sprinkled with deep yellow swirls followed a stone path leading to a white, ivy-wrapped gazebo.

At the center of the yard was a marble fountain in the likeness of Althetas Mol, the Goddess of Wisdom and Compassion, the patron goddess and namesake of the city. Beautiful carved wooden benches faced the fountain at six foot intervals, and a small table had been placed beside each of them.

When the gatekeeper returned, he was accompanied by a short man in a gray buttoned shirt and trousers with a thin black jacket. His hair was jet black and slicked back with oils. He wore silver reading glasses and was carrying a leather binder under his arm.

“You have a message from Lord Ganflin,” Harlondo said by way of greeting. His voice was high and almost feminine.

Lee handed him the letter and waited as he broke the seal and read.

“I see,” said Harlondo, putting the letter in his pocket. “Greetings my lords and ladies. Welcome to the house of Lord Ganflin. I have instructions to treat you as I would Lord Ganflin himself. Clearly he holds you in high regard.” He gave a loud whistle and four young boys ran from the house. “Your horses will be well-tended and your belongings brought to your rooms. Will you be sleeping separately, or shall I have couple’s suites prepared?”

“Individually will be fine,” Lee answered.

Harlondo raised an eyebrow. “Excellent. Please, come with me.”

“You didn’t want a couple’s suite did you?” Lee whispered to Gewey, trying to hide a smile. Gewey clenched his jaw and shot him a dirty look.

The inside of the manor was even more impressive than the outside. On either side of the large foyer sat marble basins filled with perfumed water that filled the air with the scent of lavender. Beyond the foyer, an alabaster staircase led upward before splitting into two spirals that led to opposite sides of the house. The polished marble walls were covered with elaborate tapestries and fine oil paintings depicting members of the Ganflin family in various heroic acts. To the far left were large double doors that led to the formal dining room, and in the corner was a smaller wooden door that provided access to the rear chambers. On the right side of the room were three separate doors leading to the studies and offices. Directly behind the stairs, a huge archway opened up to a ballroom where an exquisite crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. Though the room was currently unused, it was well-lit, and the lights beamed and reflected from around the steps to sparkle against the pink marble floor.

“We have hot showers in each room,” Harlondo informed them. “However, a bath can be prepared if you prefer.”

“A shower?” Gewey asked. “What-”

“Showers will be fine,” Lee said, cutting him off.

“Martin will show you to your rooms,” Harlondo continued, motioning to a tall, silver-haired man in a straight cut, blood red suit and jacket. “I have business to attend to, but I’ll be joining you for dinner this evening. I can see you’ve traveled light, so a change of clothing will be brought up directly.”

“Thank you, Harlondo,” Lee said graciously. “That would be much appreciated.”

Harlondo bowed and took his leave. Gewey smiled, thinking Lee was right at home in this environment.

Martin led them upstairs and to the left. At the end of the hall, they turned right and were shown to their rooms in turn. Gewey couldn’t believe his eyes when he entered his own suite; it was as big as the common room of most inns. An oak feather bed-large enough for three grown men-sat flush against the right wall, and to its left was a glass dressing table and mirror. In the far right corner was a small, round breakfast table with two chairs, and beyond that stood a tall, carved mahogany wardrobe with polished brass handles.

In the near left corner was by far the most interesting feature: a round curtain hung from the ceiling, above a section of black tile. Gewey pulled back the curtain and saw three copper pipes protruding from the ceiling. The first of the pipes hung about a foot from the eight-foot ceiling. At the end of the pipe was a cone- shaped attachment with tiny holes drilled into the solid facing. The other two pipes ran down to his chest, each with a small brass handle. Attached to each handle was a tray; one held a small bar of soap and the other a square piece of pink coral. He knew what the soap was for, but had he no idea what purpose the coral might serve. Curious, Gewey grabbed one of the handles and turned. Water sprayed down from the pipe and poured on his head. It was hot- scalding hot. He screamed in shock and leapt away. He watched the water spill onto the tile and swirl down a recessed drain in the center.

Gewey heard Lee laughing behind him. “I was just coming to show you how to use that. I guess I’m a bit late.”

“This must be a shower,” he said as water dripped down his face. He wasn’t looking at Lee at all. “What a marvel!”

“I thought you’d like it,” Lee said. “Dina’s showing Kaylia how to use hers now.”

Lee showed Gewey how to adjust the water temperature by manipulating the handles and explained that the coral was used to scrub off dead skin.

“Be careful with it though,” Lee warned. “Scrub too hard and you’ll peel your skin right off.”

Gewey relished his first shower. He had never felt anything like it, and he swore that when he finally returned home, he would build one for himself.

Martin came in during his shower and announced that he had placed Gewey’s belongings next to the wardrobe and laid out fresh clothing on the bed.

“Your friends will join you in the parlor,” Martin told him. “It’s to the left from your room, at the end of the hall.”

When Gewey stepped out of the shower, he felt refreshed-more so than after a good night’s sleep even. The clothing Martin had brought was every bit as fine as the suit Lee had bought for him for his coming of age party, which he’d had to leave behind in Gristol. It was a cream silk shirt with gold buttons and gold stitching, along with a pair of shining black trousers. A short black jacket, soft leather shoes, and a belt with a gold buckle completed the ensemble. Gewey quickly dressed, but as he was about to head to the parlor, there was a knock on his door. Gewey gaped as a young woman in a baby blue housedress stood smiling in the doorway, a small basket propped against her hip.